


The Piano Knows Something You Will Never Know

by KLegnard



Category: My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Adorable, Asshole Brendon, Ballet AU, M/M, Purely Fluff, Vandalism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-20
Updated: 2013-10-01
Packaged: 2017-12-20 20:42:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/891639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KLegnard/pseuds/KLegnard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The piano sang soft chords the background, the sweet melody accompanying the low drums and gentle guitar. It was an old recording, but the sounds that wound through the studio were beautiful nonetheless. Of course, they shied in comparison to the sole figure in the building, spinning and leaping, lost in his head, lost in the music. <br/>His name was Ryan Ross.</p>
<p>Ryan is a dancer at a prestigious studio, and Brendon is the reluctant newbie, forced into dance by his mother. Lots of fluff and cuteness will most likely occur.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was just a random idea I wanted to try out, because I felt like it would be fun to write something a bit out of character. I will admit that though I dance myself, the lingo is still pretty inaccurate at times. Especially the french-ness.

The piano sang soft chords the background, the sweet melody accompanying the low drums and gentle guitar. It was an old recording, but the sounds that wound through the studio were beautiful nonetheless. Of course, they shied in comparison to the sole figure in the building, spinning and leaping, lost in his head, lost in the music. 

His name was Ryan Ross.Quietly, he counted to himself: one, two, leap, four arabesque, peke, repeat.He was in perfect time to the music, and his technique was sharp and far from looking forced. 

The dance flooded across the floor like spilled paint, colorful and pure. it was breathtaking. The music built to a crescendo as the dancer prepped for the next move, winding into an endless number of pirouettes. Then, the music stopped. or, more accurately, someone stopped it.

"Ryan," His instructor spoke, "Take a break, you'll wear yourself out." Ryan opened his mouth to protest. "No," he was cut off, "I want you to get some rest, we have a lot of work to do tomorrow."

Ryan sighed, "Yes Mrs. Iero." he turned to pull on a sweatshirt. 

"Oh, and Ryan," she called, before leaving, "That was some great form out there today. Keep up the good work."

Ryan smiled at the praise, throwing on a pair of tennis shoes as the door clicked shut behind her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

"But...mom!" Brendon groaned, "Why do I have to go to a stupid dance class?"

"Because, you vandalized our house in the name of self expression. You want to be creative, do it in a controlled environment." Vandalism was such a strong word. All he did was graffiti the side of the brick building. It wasn't anything inappropriate either. He thought their house needed a little color, and Brendon just wanted to, as he put it, express himself. Of course, those words came back to bite him. Hard. "Besides," his mother continued, "You may even enjoy it." 

Brendon scoffed, thinking that he would never 'enjoy it.' 

Just then, the phone rang, and Mrs. Urie ran into the kitchen to answer it.

Brendon thought back to what he knew about dance. Oh, right. Nothing. Not only would he get picked on at school if word got out about his "extra curricular activity", but he would be the laughing stock of his class, the only one incapable of executing a perfect fuette turn. 'At least,' he thought bitterly, 'I know what a fuette turn is.'

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"And step, chasse, balance, turn." Mrs. Iero shouted over the music, clapping her hands on each downbeat. "Spencer, you know I think you're a great dancer, but you really need to work on your timing. You're about three beats ahead of the music. You have nice posture today, though." That was how she ran the class, precise, strict, but far from cruel.

That was one of the reasons that Ryan loved to come to this studio. That, and the fact that for once, he wasn't the only male dancer. He was close friends with Spencer, who majored in hip-hop. Spencer was great, too, He just couldn't seem to be able to slow down enough to perform well in ballet or lyrical.

Spencer sent Mrs. Iero a small smile and paused, letting the music, and the rest of the class, catch up. When he jumped back into motion, he was perfectly in step, and their teacher moved on to correct another student.

"Hey, did you hear? We're getting a new student!" Spencer leaned over, whisper in Ryan's ear. Ryan shook his head, no, he had not heard, but before he could ask if Spencer knew what he was like, Mrs. Iero yelled from across the room, "Spencer! Straighten up!"

Blushing, Spencer did as he was told, Ryan stifled a laugh. 'A new kid, huh?' He thought, almost stumbling over a pas de basque. 'I wonder what classes he'll be in?'

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Ballet?" Brendon was incredulous. His mother attempted to place a hand on his shoulder, but he brushed it away. "That's a girl class!"

Mrs. Urie tried to reason with him, "Well, you'll also be in jazz, hip-hop and tap, and boys take those classes, don't they?"

"Man, I'm so going to regret this." he muttered, staring down at the paper in front of him. It was all right there, in black ink, mocking him. "I can't believe this." He sighed. 

"Honey, I know you don't want to go, but it was either this or more work around here. You and I both know that you can barely keep your room straight, much less the entire house." They were sitting in their small kitchen, Brendon pouring over his schedule, his mom bustling around the fridge. She pulled out a carton of milk, sniffed its contents, grimaced, and threw it into the trash bin. 

"I could come up with another punishment!" Brendon's mother set a bowl full of milk-less cereal in front of him. As he picked up his spoon, she responded:

"Don't you remember volunteering to take care of the dog? We don't want another repeat of that."

Brendon was going to point out that that was when he was in the eighth grade, but he knew she was right. Aside form the fact that she was only using him to fulfill her own childhood dreams, which was just wrong. Finishing his breakfast in silence, he put the bowl in the sink.

"Go on, get ready to go. We can't have you be late for your first lesson!" his mom called as he retreated upstairs to his room.

Once inside, he slumped against the door. From that angle, he could see the dance uniform his mother bought him resting on the back of the chair. The uniform included tights. Tights! 

He balled up the clothes and shoved them into a shoulder bag. He could hear his mother below him, opening the front door and calling for him to get in the car. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and called out, "I'm coming!" before making his way back downstairs, dragging the bag behind him.


	2. Broken Glass

Brendon was awestruck by the sight that awaited him when the car finally pulled to a halt.

"Are you sure this is the right place?" He glanced up at the building, an old tabacco warehouse. It showed signs of attempts at renovation, but Brendon still thought it looked like it was going to crumble into dust if someone slammed the doors too hard.

"Yes, sweetie," Mrs. Urie replied, opening her car door. Brendon followed suit, hoisting his bag onto his back.

The pair made their way to the door, Mrs. Urie taking long strides, Brendon dragging his heels and shooting furtive glances at the warehouse.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~}

 

"Hello, and welcome to Iero Studios. How may I help you?" the receptionist asked in a falsely cheery voice as they walked in. While his mother spoke with the woman, Brendon used the time to examine his surroundings. There had obviously been more work done on the inside, and it greatly differed from the cracking outer walls. The brick was painted a light purple, and there was a wooden staircase leading to the next level. Brendon assumed that this was where the classs where held.

 

Brendon's gaze shifted to the front desk, where his mother was being handed his lesson schedule.

 

"Okay, can we just get this over with?" Brendon glanced towards the stairs.

 

"Will you cheer up a bit?" His mother replied, sliding th epaper with his class schedule across the desk to him. "Tell you what. If you make it through this week without complaining again, I'll only make you take one month of classes. Deal?"

 

"Deal." brendon said. He folded the page and tucked it into the side pocket of his bag. "I guess I should get going if I want to make it to my first class."

 

"Right, I'll be in the car when you get done. I'll see you at around...?"

 

"My...ballet... class," he choked, "gets out at around one."

 

"Right." Mrs.Urie adjusted her purse strap and headed out the door, leaving Brendon to stare hesitantly at the staircase before him.

'You can do this, B. You got this.' he thought to himself, squaring his shoulders.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Third door on your right, dear," Mrs. Iero led Brendon down a wide hallway, pausing to point out various rooms to explain their uses, "It's ballet class. I belive that's your first lesson?" She inquired, squinting down at the schedule in Brenodn's hands.

Brendon nodded, toying with the black strap pon his bag. Mrs. Iero held open the door and ushered him inside.

There were already a few people, mostly girls, lingering in the room; Brendon assumed that more people were still getting changed. As soon as Brendon set foot on the scuffed wood flooring, all heads in the room turned his way. Some looked at him with curiosity, while others glared as if furious he woul invade their space.

Brendon lowered his head to avoid meeting their judgemental gazes, and made his way to the dressing rooms. There were two doors, one on his left, and one on his right. The one two his left had a small brass plaque reading 'men' so he pulled the door open.

It was a relatively small room, lined with white wooden cubbies and benches. There were two other people in the room, one slightly taller than the other, with far more make-up and hair product than any of the girls in the other room. The shorter, somewhat pudgier one looked up when the door swung shut behind Brendon.   
"Hey." he nodded his way before continuing to pull on a pair of tan tights like it was the most natural thing in the world. Brendon returned the greeting with a small smile and a gentle wave o his hand.

He set his duffle down on one of the low benches and unzipped the top. The two boys we standing fat to his side, chatting casually as they got dressed.

Sighing, Brendon pulled out his own pair of tights and tore them from their packaging. He shoved the crumpled was of celophane into his jeans pocket before pulling the jeans off.

The entire time he changed, he tried to keep his mind off of the fact that he was in the same room as two partly naked and attractive men, but the more he tried to fucus on how the fuck to get his tights on, the more his mind wandered. /Don't Blush/ he thought to himself, pulling a stark-white t-shirt on to cover his pale stomache. Brendon quickly shoved his old clothes in to the bag and stuffed it into one of the wooden cubbies, thankful to be able to leave.

When he entered the main room again, there were a few more girls lounging around, and a short, dark-haired man pacing back and forth in front of the mirrored wall.

He looked up when he heared the boy's changing room door open, and spotted Brendon immediately. His eyes lit up. "You must be my new student!" he cried happily, "Brendon, right? I'm Mr. Wentz, but everyone just calls me Pete. I'm a bit to young to be a 'mister', don'tcha think?" He didn't pause to give Brendon tim to answer. "Well, we have about two minutes before class actually begins, so why don't we just go over a few things. I'm aware this is your first class, so let's start by showing you the proper way to stand at the bar, why don't we?"

Pete led the boy over to a mid-stomach height metal bar, and showed him the proper way to position his feet. They took the next minute or so to go over bar technique and etiquette before Pete motioned the rest of the group over.

"Okay, let's see those turnouts."  
The shorter boy from the dressing room was standing with his fingertips resting on the bar about three feet behind Brendon. He was leaning over the bar and whispering comments into the taller boy's ear.   
He was glancing around the room as his friend spoke, rolling hiss eyes whenever one of the girls was criticized on her posture.

Afraid to show just how lacking in experience, he tried his best to ape the girl in front of him, sliding his foot across the floor in a close copy of her movements. 'This is a...what was it called? A fondue? No...' He thought.He wasn't aware that his left foot needed to be pointed a little more, or that his grip on the bar was a little too tight; his knuckles were almost white.

"Relax, kid," came a voice from behind him. It was the tall dancer boy, "Any thighter and you'll bend the bar." he said this with a small smile, and Brendon followed the advice, releasing his death-grip on the metal.

After Pete had gone around the room and corrected his students on their work, they all moved to form two parallel lines in the middle of the floor. Uncertain about whether or not he should join in, Brendon just stood in the back line, a bit off to the side.

"Come on," the tall boy said, motioning Brendon to take a step closer.

Upon closer inspection, Brendon noticed the brown eyes to match the boy's spikey brown hair. There seemed to be a lot of product in it, and he was wearing far more make-up than the girls in the room. He also sported a pair of tights and tight-fitting white tee similar to the one Brendon was wearing, only the boy also had on a pair of light brown leg warmers and a matching knit scarf. He was thin, in a muscular sort of way, and he stood with a casual grace that most people couldn't achieve.

As the two boys made eye contact , Brendon could feel his face eat up, a blush creeping onto his cheeks. He wasn't staring. He wasn't.  
``````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````  
"Ryan, dude," Spencer interrupted Ryan's thoughts, "You're staring. And drooling a little." Ryan reflexively wiped at his mouth, and he could see Spencer snickering out of the corner of his eye.

Ryan smirked, "At least he's staring back. You haven't been able to get a reaction like that out of 'Jon from Jazz'," Ryan ended his comment with his best impersonation of a twelve-year-old girl.

"Spencer shook his head, trying to hide his blush. "Hey, at least I'm not a creeper. You know what, why am I talking to you? Focus on your dancing."

"Thanks, mom." Ryan retorted, rolling his eyes. He glanced into the mirror, and he could see the reflected gaze of the new kid. He made eye contact with the dark-haired boy again, and he could see his own smile in the glass. The two boys' gazes held for a second more before Pete began his instructions.

"Okay, I'm going to teach you a new, fairly simple combination. You'll have the next ten minutes to work on it, then I'll be calling you up in groups to perform it. Brendon, I've asked Lucy to help you, Lucy, this boy is in your hands. Don't fuck up, kay?"

Brendon moved to stand by Lucy, the blonde girl he stood behind at the bar. The two of them watched Pete go through a sixteen-count combination, and after he broke it down into sections, they went off into their own space to practice. Ryan watched for a minute before he and Spencer went off into their own little corner.

"Wait," Spencer stopped Ryan from starting his first step. "You right foot needs to be in plié."

"Oh, shut up." Ryan bent his knee a bit more, sticking hid tongue out at Spencer.

The second time, when Ryan started, he could feel someone watching him. He din't need to turn around to know it was the new kid, and he smirked to himself.

'I think I like this kid,' he thought, launching into his first peke turn.  
`````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````  
"And, pas de bou reis, step through, piroue--Brendon, come on!" Lucy exclaimed, stopping for the sixth time to redirect Brendon. "This is easy! I could do it with my eyes closed!"

"Yeah, I'd like to see you try," Brendon replied. That was a bad idea.

"Fine," the dancer replied, shutting her eyes. She stepped into the choreography, fairly well considering she had her eyes closed. She had gotten about halfway through it, though, when she started stumbling. The second she lifted into her pirouette, the final move of the set, Brendon could tell it wasn't going to end well. She pushed into the turn a bit to fast and tripped into the glass mirror.

/Crash!/

Shards flew everywhere, and Brendon had to cover his face with his hands to protect his eyes. When he finally felt it was safe to open them, all he could see was glass and blood. Splotches of it covered the floor, and the shocked faces of his peers turned towards him.

"Shit," Pete mumbled, "you guys, don't move, don't touch the glass, don't tough Lucy, okay? I'm going to get Mrs. Iero. Ryan, can you call 911?" Pete ran down out of sight, leaving Brendon next to a whimpering Lucy and the frame of the broken mirror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this fic was entered into a little contest between a friend and me. Whoever gets the most favorites wins, views don't count. On the plus side for you viewers, I'll be adding a new chapter every Friday until the end of October. Thanks for reading,   
> J


End file.
